A/N: I've been meaning to write a Heavy Rain fanfiction for a while now. I'm basing this a few months after the events of the game, using the ending where Norman resigns from the FBI to try at a sort of normal life. Anyway, there is an OC present, so I hope that I did alright with her character. Any feedback would be much appreciated.


Untrustworthy Letters

...

Chapter One


Hand resting against her face, Clarissa watched as the rain drops fell against the window. It was relentless, like the sky just opened up to let rain fall forever. It certainly felt like forever, every silence was occupied with the sound of rain. The soothing sound of rain against a roof, or the sound of the water hitting the ground.

Now, she couldn't hear the rain. She could never hear it in the therapist's office, the rain used to be a comforting sound that reminded her of a better time. One where she still had her family and friends. Though, now, the rain wasn't all that comforting.

"You stare out the window quite a bit," a woman stated, who was sitting across from her in the small room. She was a little older than her, her eyes slightly wrinkled that gave her an almost laughing expression. Friendly, trustworthy. Clarissa turned her head to look at her finally, pulling her attention away from the window.

There was a number of things that she was relieved about in regards to her therapist. Dr. Davenport spoke in a calm and supportive voice, not the authoritative and almost robotic voice that Clarissa had grown used to while she was in...that place. All the doctors and nurses in that place spoke like they hated their jobs, which Clarissa assumed that they did. Dr. Davenport, though, didn't seem like she minded dealing with nutcases, so it was a nice change.

"I just find it odd," Clarissa muttered, turning her attention back to the window once again, "it seems like the rain never stops. It rained when I got let out, it rained when I spent my first night in my old apartment, and it feels like it hasn't stopped since."

"Do you like the rain?" Dr. Davenport asked, Clarissa only shrugging her shoulders as she continued to look out of the window.

"I don't care," she muttered, silence falling between the doctor and patient.

It had been a few days since she was let out, and every day she was supposed to see her therapist. Clarissa hadn't had a good sleep in a long time, and didn't really let anybody else know she was finally out of the place she was kept in for over three years, aside from her cousin. He had kept her small apartment clean and tidy, even paid for it while she wasn't living in it. Still does.

He had said that she could start to pay him back once she finally got a job and had settled back into the flow of life. A life that was outside of the overly clean hallways and white rooms of the mental institution.

"How have you been fairing with settling in?" Dr. Davenport asked, Clarissa turning back to look at her with dull blue eyes. It seemed like the medication had sucked all the life out of her, the flare. Though, Clarissa wasn't sure if it was the medication anymore. Maybe she was just tired. She looked like she hadn't had a solid sleep for a few nights now, a few hours each night.

"I still can't sleep for long," Clarissa said, "it's too quiet, and I'm not used to sleeping alone. I used to have a roommate back in that place-"

"The institution?" Dr. Davenport asked, Clarissa just nodding before continuing.

"Now, I sleep alone in my apartment. All I can hear is the rain and the odd voice outside in the hallway. Sometimes the heater kicks on, but it's never for too long. I manage to fall asleep with it on, but the moment it shuts off I wake up."

"Any night terrors?" Dr. Davenport asked, "you had said that you suffered them before and while you were in the institution."

"Not really," Clarissa said, rubbing her hand against her mouth in thought, "I guess that is a blessing in itself. I just wake up early and can't fall back asleep. Then, the worries and rampant thoughts come shortly after that. At that point, I just give up and start my morning."

"Have you had any contact with your family?"

"No," Clarissa muttered, "aside from my cousin, I haven't bothered. They didn't bother to visit me for over two years, I just want to avoid the pity visits because their mentally ill daughter, sister, or niece is finally out of the loony bin."

Dr. Davenport frowned while she wrote away on her usual pad of paper, "that's sad to hear, I'm sure they would love to hear from you."

"Well, I would rather avoid any awkwardness from them, but I'm sure that news of my release has been spread around. My cousin, Sam, has been trying to get me to visit them as well. I figure that if my family wants to visit, they can do it on their own terms."

"Your cousin, you haven't spoke much of him aside from the day he drove you to your apartment."

"What is there really to say?" Clarissa asked, "I know he means well, but I still don't trust him."

"Why is that?"

"His name starts with the letter 'S'," Clarissa muttered, looking away from her towards the window again, "everybody that has betrayed me or hurt me in the past had the letter 'S' in their name."

"So, everybody who has the letter 'S' in their name is untrustworthy?" Dr. Davenport asked, regarding her with a thoughtful gaze.

That was another thing that Clarissa liked about her, that she never looked at her oddly. Concern, amusement, and thoughtful looks were mostly what Dr. Davenport gave her, it made her feel less insane. She is better than she was before, much better, but she was still pretty far from sane. She doubted that she would ever be fully sane, but half of her life had gone by with no attempt at living like a normal person.

Someone who could support themselves, live without constant check ups to make sure they haven't done anything stupid or life threatening. Someone Clarissa could be proud of, someone she could look in the mirror at without feeling regret.

"Yes..." Clarissa muttered, answering the doctor's question and bringing her mind back to the topic at hand.

"Did you want to talk about why that is?"

"No. That is something that I never talk about, it is just a fact," Clarissa snapped, not happy with being questioned about that.

People who had an 'S' in their name were bad, untrustworthy. She even hated the fact that she couldn't trust herself due to that fact, yet she knows she can trust herself. The letter N wasn't as bad, she could maybe trust someone with that letter in their name, but not completely. Other letters were alright, just those two were bad.

S and N.

The doctors in the mental institution had tried to figure out why she thought this way, but Clarissa just refused to answer. Why should she have to explain a fact? She honestly can't remember when she started avoid people with those letters in their names, but all she knew was that people with those letters in their names were untrustworthy.

Some days it just felt like everybody was out to get her, regardless of the names they had.

"Maybe one day you will be ready to talk about it," Dr. Davenport said, "you will have to trust someone eventually with that letter in their name. You could learn to trust someone by the way they act, and not the name they have."

"I doubt it..." Clarissa muttered. She glanced towards the clock, an hour had passed. It was time to leave, which left Clarissa feeling relieved. Usually, she left feeling good after a session if it was successful. Meaning that she left with something she could use, a drug or new coping mechanism. This time, they did a lot of talking about things. It just left her with more things to think about while lying in bed.

"Well, I guess we better end it here today," Dr. Davenport said, standing as she closed her file and placed it down on the desk. "I hope to see you tomorrow."

"I'll try my best to be here," Clarissa said softly, standing from the chair, "thanks."


Her wet shoes squeaked slightly as she strode across the floor towards the elevator, jamming her finger into the up arrow exactly three times. Any more or any less, Clarissa was convinced that the elevator would jam or stop. Her mind ran over all the bad things that could happen, and she almost found herself pressing the button three more times.

No, her mind snapped at her, then you will have pressed it six times. If you do that, you will have to take the stairs...

Clarissa blew out a breath, closing her eyes tightly for a few moments. She tried to remember that she had to reverse the thoughts. Nothing would happen if she pressed it one more time, and if it did, she would just have to accept it.

A light bing filled the rather quiet lobby, an elevator door opening. Carefully, she started to walk towards it. Clarissa had pressed the button three times, every thing will be fine for now. She pushed the button to her floor, moving back from the door and towards the back of the empty elevator. With a jerk, it started to climb up the floors.

Clarissa tapped her fingers against the metal bar she was holding onto, trying to ignore the pressure the elevator was leaving on her head. She was already slightly dizzy from lack of sleep, so she prayed that the motion wasn't going to make her pass out.

Finally, she reached the floor her apartment was located on. Quickly, she stepped outside of the elevator. Only a few steps away, and she would be safely back inside of her apartment. Sam wasn't visiting today, so maybe she could get to relax for a while.

She noticed one of the people who had an apartment on this floor standing in the hallway outside of his door, he seemed a bit out of it. She frowned, not too sure what to do. She didn't know him, didn't know his name. He didn't seem like he was doing too good, though. When he glanced over at her, his eyes were rimmed in red and he was pale, shaking slightly like he might just pass out then and there.

What do I do? Clarissa asked herself, panic starting to crop up. Do I help him? Do I just keep walking?

Could she trust him? She knew she couldn't, but she found herself approaching him carefully. Unsure as to what to do, she decided to ask if he needed help. His gaze was on her, but it was like he wasn't really looking at her. Through her, like he wasn't really all there...

He's really out of it.

"Sir?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, to not stutter and trip over her words, "are you alright? Do you need help?"

He didn't really answer at first, just pushing himself off the wall slightly and turned, falling back against the wall. He didn't collapse, thankfully. Then, he seemed to notice her standing there.

"What?" he asked, Clarissa's frown deepening. It was odd, she was quite concerned for him. She had seen many people stumbling around, drunk or on a drug, and didn't really pay them much mind. This time, though, he seemed like he needed help. There was that look in his eyes, the paleness of his skin and the shaking. She could kind of see some blood that had been wiped away above his nose...

"Do you need help?" she asked, slowing her words down so she spoke clearly. The man's eyes widened, his gaze getting that weird look in them again. He wasn't there anymore. She needed to sit him down somewhere, call an ambulance. Was he drunk? Overdosing on something?

She didn't really want to touch him, but it seemed like he was struggling to keep on his feet. With a sigh, she decided to just get him to sit down on the floor of the hallway.

"Here, just..." she started, placing her hands on his shoulders and lowered him down. He did so willingly after a few moments, sinking down so that he was sitting on the floor. Clarissa stepped back, searching for her phone.

"I'm going to call you an ambulance-"

"No," the man stated quickly, his hand reaching out slightly. Clarissa stepped back farther at the movement, not wanting to be grabbed.

"No...just..."

"Alright..." Clarissa said after a few moments, tucking her phone into her pocket. It was better she avoided a conflict. She would wait until he passed out before calling, if need be. "Can I get you anything, then? Water?"

"Bathroom," he said, trying to pull himself up again.

He needs a bathroom? She asked herself, knowing that he wasn't really capable of unlocking his own lock at the moment. Clarissa debated on letting him use hers, she never let anybody other than Sam into her apartment...

He really needs help...Shit.

"Bathroom," she muttered, "alright...come on."

What am I doing? A voice in her head hissed as she slung his arm over her shoulder, letting him lean on her for support as she walked him towards her apartment door. This man is a stranger, I don't know who he is. He is untrustworthy! He could harm me!

He needed help, that's all Clarissa knew. She started to repeat that over and over in her head, creating a mantra to keep the paranoid voice at bay. It worked for a while as she fished around in her pockets for her apartment key.

She quickly unlocked the door, leading him inside and towards her bathroom. Once she turned on the bathroom light, she felt the man remove his arm from around her shoulder and stagger towards the sink. He turned the cold water on, splashing his face a few times. Clarissa stood awkwardly at the door, trying not to slap her right hand against her thigh like she usually did when she was really anxious.

I have to get him out of here. Kick him out.

He needs help...

She shook her head slightly, watching as he turned the water off and stared down at the sink for a few moments. He then looked up, the look in his eyes much more focused now. Clarissa tried to keep herself from scowling at him, keeping up a sort of poker face of concern.

She was concerned.

"Thanks," the man said after a few moments, Clarissa just nodding her head.

"Are you drunk?" she demanded, trying not to wince at her demanding tone. She continued with a sort of softer tone, "it's just a little past noon...are you sure you don't need an ambulance?"

"No, I'm fine," the man stated, still a little wobbly on his legs. His arms were shaking, Clarissa letting out a small sigh. She ran a hand through her hair, looking around.

"Maybe you should sit, before you fall..." she said quietly, watching as the man looked behind him. He seemed like he wanted to get out of there, probably as much as she wanted him out. Still, he lowered himself down onto the edge of the tub, placing his hands over his head and sat like that for a while.

Clarissa wanted to ask more questions, but she figured that she would let him get his strength back. He would leave and she would, hopefully, not have to deal with him again. She debated leaving the bathroom, but that concern she was feeling left her entering the small bathroom and pulling down the lid of the toilet seat, sitting down and watching him. Suspicion was starting to crop up a bit, geared towards why he was like this, that if she unwillingly entered herself into another bad situation.

I need to take my pills again...Clarissa reminded herself, hoping that the man would leave soon so he wouldn't have to see her true self, the person off the medication. Not that it really mattered, he seemed worse off than she was at the moment.

I've never let anybody in my apartment...she thought to herself, not someone I know. This has to be some mile stone or something...

Still, a more paranoid voice stated, I bet he has a name that has one of the untrustworthy letters...